


Theater 3

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: First Time, M/M, Semipublic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-20
Updated: 2006-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m bored,” said House. “I think we need live entertainment.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theater 3

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/the_smut_couch/profile)[**the_smut_couch**](http://community.livejournal.com/the_smut_couch/) challenge, Prompt One: Write a fic that evokes Grindhouse Cinema. (I’m not a Grindhouse devotee, so am taking this in my own direction.) “First-time” fic. Many, many thanks to [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

The streetlights had gotten sparser and sparser, and the buildings had gotten dingier and dingier. In the passenger seat, Wilson felt the urge to press his door lock down, although he’d already done that twice.

“House, where the hell are we?”

“Hold on, we should be there in a minute.” House was scanning the area, looking for something. “The signs in this part of town aren’t particularly good, are they?”

“I think that in and of itself is a sign: we should get out of here. I don’t know why we had to drive this far just to come to a movie anyway. They just put that new theater in at the mall. Stadium seating and everything.”

They were coming up to an intersection; House slowed and leaned toward the windshield, peering out to see which street this was.

“Stadium seating, wonderful. Stairs are such a pleasure for me.”

Wilson sank lower into his seat. There weren’t many people out on the street in this neighborhood, but he felt like every single one of them was looking right at him. “They have an area for, uh, no stairs.”

“An area ‘for no stairs’? You must mean cripple seating. Oh, wait, here’s the street.” House swung the car to the right hard, and Wilson thought he could hear the tires squealing.

“Now we just need to look for the number. It’s 2010. I’ll take the left side of the street; you take the right.”

“There don’t seem to be any numbers on the buildings. But it should be OK, right? Theaters are kind of hard to miss.”

House spared Wilson a quick glance. “This one is, um, pretty small.”

Wilson threw his head back against the headrest in exasperation. “House, where are we going?”

“Hey, I saw 2000! We’re getting close.” House slowed the car to a crawl, earning him a loud honk from the car that had come up behind them. It swerved around, music blaring, and then swerved back extraordinarily close to their car. If House hadn’t been in the process of slowing down even further, they would have lost the front left headlight and possibly part of the bumper.

“Answer the question.” Wilson was trying hard to push down a panicky feeling, but it was getting more difficult with each passing minute.

House checked the rearview mirror, swung the car around in a U-turn, and pulled up to the curb. “This is where we’re going. Come on.”

Against his better judgment, Wilson climbed out of the car and joined House on the sidewalk. The “theater” looked like any other building on the street. It was dark and uninviting, with only an extremely dim light over the door to provide any sense that there might be activity inside. Wilson tried to decide if the panic in his gut was feeling more like butterflies or hummingbirds, then berated himself for such a girly image.

“Buck up!” yelled an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like House.

“Get in the car and go home,” his common sense countered.

After knocking on the door, House favored Wilson with a wide sly grin. Common sense conceded the argument.

A small panel in the door slid open. Wilson stared – he’d only ever seen such an arrangement in movies, and not good movies at that.

House was unfazed. “We’re here for the show.”

The unseen guardian had a deep, gravelly voice. “Gotta pass?”

House dug into his pocket, coming up with a three-inch length of yellow cardboard. He waved it in front of the door, and the panel slammed closed.

The door opened slowly, creaking slightly, and common sense began to clear its throat. But House’s hand was on Wilson’s back, shoving him inside.

There was no one in the hall, which was once again poorly lit. Wilson got a vague sense of baroque furniture lining the walls, but before he could look around, a very short, obese man came out of a door and approached them.

“Dr. Wilson!” Wilson started, but the man bypassed him and stepped up to House. The man’s grin was oily and toad-like as he patted House on the arm.

“You found our new location. Excellent.”

“Not the easiest place to find, Armand.” House glanced down at his arm, and Armand swiftly removed his hand.

“That is the beauty of it, is it not? Wouldn’t want to attract too much attention.”

Armand’s eyes flickered to Wilson, and Wilson had to hold back a shudder. The image of a long sticky tongue wrapping around him was playing vividly in his head.

“I see you brought a friend.”

“As indicated when I made the reservation.” House stepped in closer to Wilson and put his arm around Wilson’s shoulders. Wilson would have been annoyed at the implied possessiveness if he hadn’t been so grateful for the implied protection.

Armand’s grin never faltered. “So will you or will you not be requiring anything from the menu tonight?”

“We already ate,” Wilson offered.

Armand and House laughed in unison. Wilson was completely confused.

“Let’s leave it open for now,” said House. He flicked his head toward the end of the hallway to indicate they should move. Armand immediately began to lead them down the hall.

House took his arm away from Wilson’s shoulders and followed Armand. Wilson contemplated heading back to the car but realized House had the keys. He was trapped.

Armand stopped in front of a door halfway down the hall. “Theater 3. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.”

He opened the door to reveal yet another poorly lit room. A large screen dominated the far wall, but rather than typical movie seats, there were two low chairs and a sofa. A few oversized throw pillows were scattered on the floor, as well. Wilson hesitated in the doorway until House shoved him in.

By the look on House’s face, the room pleased him. “Upgraded from the last location, eh, Armand?”

“You are too kind.” Armand moved easily about the room, adjusting lamp shades and re-arranging some of the pillows.

“Your intercom is here.” He pointed to a small device on top of a side table with drawers. “As you know, Dr. Wilson, you won’t be disturbed unless you contact us, so let us know if you need anything.”

Armand actually bowed before leaving the room. “Your movie will start in a few minutes. Enjoy.”

Wilson dropped on the couch. It had the widest seat, front to back, that he had ever seen. It was almost like a daybed without the high sides. He shifted, trying to get comfortable.

“So, you’re now using my name when you want to hide your identity?”

House was poking around in the drawers of the side table. “What do you mean, now?”

“House!”

“Just call me Jimmy. The name suits me, don’t you think?” He seemed to have found what he was looking for, although he came over to the sofa empty-handed. He sat and slowly eased back until he was against the sofa cushions, his right leg curled up so that his right foot was on his left thigh. He started to remove his sneaker.

“What are you doing?”

“Your mama never told you it was rude to get your shoes on the couch? You’ll be able to get into a much more comfortable position if you take your shoes off.”

Wilson stared for a moment. “Movie theater floors are usually pretty gross. This obviously isn’t your typical theater, but still. I don’t think I want to walk around in my bare feet.”

House chortled and threw his right shoe over the side of the sofa. “One, you can leave your socks on. I won’t mind. Two, they are scrupulous about their cleaning in this establishment.” His left shoe followed its partner over the side.

“Fine.” Wilson quickly removed his shoes and set them next to the sofa.

“What movie is playing?”

“Wait and see; wait and see.” House leaned over toward the intercom. “I’m getting a drink – want one?”

“They serve alcohol here?”

“Of course. I’ll get us Scotch.”

“I don’t want Scotch. Get me a beer.”

House pressed the intercom button. “This is Dr. Wilson. You brought my bottle of Scotch over from the last location, right?”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

“Bring it and a glass in, please.” He released the button.

“You didn’t get me a beer.”

House was unconcerned. “I’ve seen you drink Scotch. I know you like it.”

After a forceful exhale, Wilson replied, “Why do you do that? Ignore what I want?”

House was looking smug. “Sometimes what you say you want is not actually what you do want.”

“What does that mean?” Wilson was annoyed, but his head of steam was interrupted by the entrance of a beautiful, seductively-dressed woman.

“Dr. Wilson, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she purred. She was clearly talking to House, but her eyes were on Wilson. He felt a heat rise inside him.

She was holding a tray with the bottle of scotch and one glass. When she placed the tray on the table next to House, Wilson had an unimpeded view down to her navel. It was quite a pleasant view.

“Would you like me to pour?” she asked House.

“No, thanks, Desiree. I think that’s all we’ll need tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Wilson whispered to House, his eyes still on Desiree.

“Shh, movie’s starting,” House replied, and sure enough it was.

Wilson reluctantly tore his eyes away from Desiree’s retreating form and focused on the movie screen.

“Mandingo” splashed across the screen, and Wilson started to feel vaguely uneasy. House passed him a glass of Scotch, and he drained it much more quickly than he normally would have.

A few moments and another shot of Scotch later, Wilson was on his way to horrified.

He turned to House. “What is this movie?”

“Hmm?” House was focused on the screen. “It’s a genre film.”

“And that genre would be…”

“Grindhouse cinema. Kind of like an old-time _Kill Bill_. I thought you liked old movies.”

“From the 40s and 50s! Not from… When is this movie from?”

“1975. You can’t tell from the costumes?”

“It’s a plantation! Those people are slaves! What on earth possessed you to pick this movie?”

“It was your suggestion.”

“What?” The horror was in full swing.

“You were the one who told me I should try to get know my staff better. I decided what better way to get insight than through the great art of the cinema? This week it’s Foreman, in case you missed that.”

“Yes, I often miss giant flashing signs attached to dropped anvils.”

“Last week was Chase. I rented _Crocodile Dun-Deep_. ‘That’s not a dick;  this is a dick.’ I feel I really understand better where Chase is coming from now.”

“You are twisted.”

“Next week will be Cameron. To truly get inside the feminine psyche, I think I need something with an all-woman cast.”

“Like _Steel Magnolias_?”

“Are you crazy? _Lesbian Licks 7_.”

Wilson brought his hand to his eyes. This was insane. House was always insane, but this was…beyond.

When he looked up at the movie again, it was as horrible as the last time he had looked at it. He turned to House to see if they could leave and was stunned by House’s expression. He’d been expecting interest or smirking but what he saw was boredom.

House turned to him and echoed those thoughts. “I’m bored. I think we need live entertainment.”

Wilson in no way wanted the movie to continue, but he couldn’t resist the urge to tease. “I thought you needed to watch this for research purposes.”

“Luckily for me,” House replied as he scooted toward the far edge of the sofa, “I can multi-task.”

He reached into the bottom of the chest of drawers and pulled out what looked like the folder for a wine list. He flipped through it to a certain page and began to peruse. Catching Wilson’s glance at the folder, he commented, “I know what I want, but they like you to order by number.”

House flipped the folder shut, shoved it back in the drawer, and hit the intercom button in what seemed like one fluid motion. “It’s Dr. Wilson,” he said into the intercom. “We need Number 17 from the menu.” He glanced at Wilson, smirked, and clarified, “Make that 17A. Send in Desiree, please.”

“Wait,” said Wilson. His head was feeling a bit foggy; he definitely felt behind. “Was that a wine list or a food menu? I could go for some fries.”

House seemed to be trying to hold back laughter. “You’re a gentle soul, Jimmy. Why don’t we have Desiree explain it to you?”

The door opened behind them, and Desiree walked in. She looked every bit as lovely as she had when Wilson first saw her, but she had changed her dress. It was shorter and slinkier with fringe around the hem. Wilson had a sudden image of that fringe trailing across his lips, and he found he needed to swallow.

“Dr. Wilson,” Desiree purred, but this time her eyes were on House. Lucky bastard.

“The movie’s not doing much for my friend here,” House replied. “I thought he might enjoy some of your dancing.” House winked at Wilson, a gesture Wilson barely caught, as entranced as he was by Desiree and her dress. The movie soundtrack faded away and was replaced by instrumental jazz.

Desiree smiled at Wilson, and his heart raced. Then she began to dance, slowly and seductively, and Wilson had to swallow again.

House grabbed his cane from the floor and pushed off the couch. “Men’s room,” he announced and was gone from Wilson’s view.

Caught up in Desiree’s sinuous movements, Wilson never heard the door re-open, so he was startled to hear House right behind him. “Nice, Desiree. I think my friend is enjoying that quite a lot.”

Wilson shoved his hands in his lap to cover his hard-on. Damn House. What was he playing at? Wilson only had a second to think before strong hands came down on his shoulders. The warmth soaked into his muscles, which should have been too strange, he thought. But instead of getting tense, he became more relaxed. Just a friendly gesture, he decided. Nothing to it.

Then House began to knead Wilson’s shoulders and that relaxed him even more. He brought his hands out of his lap and put them down next to his sides. What did it matter? House had to be watching Desiree too; he wouldn’t be looking at Wilson.

After a few minutes, Wilson opened his eyes to find Desiree gone. Damn, he didn’t even remember closing his eyes. He was still getting a neck rub from House, and he wanted to protest, but it felt so incredibly good. He’d been carrying so much stress in his shoulders lately. House was just helping him relieve tension; it didn’t mean anything that Wilson was still hard and hadn’t even noticed Desiree leaving.

He let his head loll forward and almost immediately felt strong lips and stubble press into his neck at the hairline. He was really going to protest – this was clearly stepping over a friendship boundary – but it felt like years since he’d last been kissed, and he missed it so much. This was going to be fine. Simple pleasure in a touch, no big deal; friendly feeling and release of stress, that was all.

Then House’s right hand left Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson might have whimpered, but most of the tension was in his left side anyway, so it was still all good. He vaguely wondered what House was doing with his right hand and then suddenly he knew.

House’s hand was rubbing Wilson’s erection through his pants, and after a sharp inhalation, Wilson’s breathing stopped for a moment. OK, definitely a boundary-stepping event, but fuck if it didn’t feel great.

“I should stop this,” Wilson thought, but the power of speech seemed to have slipped away. Anyway, this was just stress release; House taking care of a problem he had caused in the first place by calling Desiree in here. Number 17A and what the hell was the ‘A’ for?

This was not a gay experience, Wilson told himself. It was just a – something. This would only be a romantic encounter if they both were kissing.

Wilson’s eyes had slipped closed again when he felt House’s left hand in his hair. House pulled Wilson’s head back and then suddenly crushed his mouth against Wilson’s. OK, there was now kissing. And not chaste kissing either; there was definitely at least one tongue involved. It was fine, though – they could still pass this off as just, um, relief from, um, something.

Wilson made a noise (definitely not a whimper) when House’s hand left his dick. He made a different noise (definitely not a whine) when House broke their kiss.

“Stay there,” House whispered, and that was the stupidest thing House had ever said. Wilson couldn’t have moved if an earthquake had hit.

Then House was back, on the couch now, pressing his body into Wilson’s. Wilson stared at House’s lips stupidly, trying to will them to come to his again, and then threw caution to the wind and made his own move.

The kiss seemed to knock House back a little, but he soon continued his advance. Wilson was being pushed back toward the arm of the sofa. It seemed like House might have something in mind, but Wilson was too dazed to even imagine what it would be.

The relentless pressure of House’s weight covering Wilson’s body and the thrusting force of House’s tongue in his mouth drove the blood straight to his head. He barely heard his zipper go down, but he was acutely aware of the feel of House’s hands on his hips, pushing his slacks and boxers down. The waistband dug into Wilson’s thighs, keeping him from spreading his legs the way he wanted to, needed to, but god, that little bit of bondage was exciting, too.

When House pulled his mouth away, Wilson’s lips actually felt cold for a second.

“Jesus,” he thought. “This is insane.” Everything was insane, and this would probably be a good time to stop. The friction of House’s full body weight grinding downward against his groin blew all thoughts from the water, though.

 _Blew_. Interesting word to have used, because the next thing Wilson felt was a tongue on the very tip of his dick, and then a very warm, very willing mouth wrapped around the head and sliding down the shaft.

He groaned, threw his arms over his head, and gave in to the sensations. It was a lot like the blowjobs Wilson had enjoyed in the past, but seemed stronger somehow. “More manly,” said the voice in his head that sounded like House, and that concept should theoretically have been enough to turn him off, but it wasn’t. Oh, no, not by a long shot.

As the warm, wet suction intensified, Wilson felt House’s hands rubbing over his thighs. He was getting close, this was too much, and then suddenly a long finger pressed against his perineum and a warm hand grabbed his balls, and oh holy hell, he wondered if House would swallow or spit.

Half and half, it turned out. He saw House’s Adam’s apple bob, so he must have swallowed some. House pushed Wilson’s shirt up and spit the rest onto Wilson’s stomach, then spread it around with his hand, like rubbing gel on before an ultrasound.

“Little present for you,” House said; his grin was feral.

When Wilson recovered his breath, he was able to reply, “How is a mess on my skin a present for me?”

House was pushing up into a seated position. “Souvenir, to help you remember a pleasurable experience.”

“Do you always flatter yourself like that?” Wilson swiped a hand across his dick to clean it off a bit, looked for a tissue, and then sighed and wiped his hand on a dry section of his side.

“Your stomach wouldn’t be sticky if it wasn’t pleasurable.” The grin had faded, but House’s eyes were as intense as always.

Wilson quickly pulled up his boxers and pants, closed his fly, and pulled down his shirt. Then he pushed himself against the sofa back and dropped his head to the top of the sofa. “What was that?” he asked.

“Part One,” was House’s reply, and then House was up against him again. The lips on his neck were so warm, and he tilted his head to allow greater access. Then warm breath in his ear, and damn, House should have done that before because it was tickling Wilson all the way to his toes.

“Time for Part Two.” The whisper was so close to Wilson’s ear that it might have been an echo from inside his own mind. If it kept up, this was going to get confusing.

Letting out a cleansing breath, Wilson replied, “What’s Part Two?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, it’d probably take them past yet another friendship boundary, but it seemed impolite not to ask.

“Part Two is where we work out that old axiom about giving being better than receiving.”

That sobered Wilson up a bit. That, and the removal of those intoxicating lips from his neck. “House, I – I –” He was stuttering, damn it. _Get a grip on yourself._ “I don’t think I can, er, do what you just did.”

He looked up and found House examining his face, glancing from ear to chin to cheek to hairline. Somehow the scrutiny was almost more intimate than the fellatio had been, and Wilson had to look away.

“Yeah, that takes some practice.” Now that was an interesting piece of news, but had to be filed away, because House was insistently pushing his thighs apart.

“House, what? I don’t know –”

“Relax.” House was moving then, sliding closer to Wilson. He maneuvered himself so he was sitting between Wilson’s legs, facing away. He opened his fly and pushed his jeans down slightly, freeing his erection. Then he settled with his back against Wilson’s chest.

“We’ll do this the easy way,” he said, pulling Wilson’s right hand around his body. “It’ll be like masturbation; you just have to reach a little further.” He brought Wilson’s hand to his erection and half-moaned, half-sighed when Wilson’s fingers grazed his cock.

“This is not going to work, House.”

“Oh, c’mon, Jimmy, that’s as easy as I can make it for you.” House was so clearly annoyed that it was almost funny.

“Except that’s the wrong hand for me. I think we’ll be better off if I use my dominant hand, yes?”

Wilson could feel House’s laughter in his chest, and that was quite a pleasant sensation.

“Yes, of course, I should have checked for hair to make sure I had your primary jacking off hand.”

Wilson wrapped his left hand around House’s dick, and really it was kind of like masturbating, except for the extra body between Wilson and the dick. Wilson’s old friend Common Sense made a quick appearance just to say that maybe this was taking things a bit too far, but Wilson’s even older and dearer friend Rationalization countered that Wilson owed House at this point. Repaying a favor did not mean a thing; it was merely the polite thing to do.

Of course, just a polite and friendly exchange of favors, no big deal. It wasn’t as if Wilson was really into this. Except now it was Wilson’s lips pressing into House’s neck and trailing along his shoulder. It was Wilson’s right arm wrapped around House’s chest, pulling him closer and closer, because Wilson was craving the contact. It was Wilson’s ass and inner thighs tingling, and Wilson’s insides doing flips at the sounds House was making.

He found himself matching his pace to House’s breathing, which was really backward from how it should have been, but seemed to be effective so far. Then House arched, his ass grinding into Wilson’s over-stimulated dick, and came over Wilson’s hand and seemingly half of the couch.

“Had a little bit stored up in there, didn’t you?”

“Quiet, you,” House replied, and laid limply against Wilson for a moment.

Wilson pushed his hand under House’s shirt and smeared the come across his lower stomach. “Here’s your souvenir.”

“Ah,” said House, “but I have a towel.” He reached between the seat cushions and produced a soft white hand towel.

“Where did that come from? You mean now on me it’s all dried and sticky, but you get to clean off?”

House’s back was still to Wilson, but Wilson could sense the smirk. “Next time maybe you’ll come better prepared.” House threw the used towel to the side and fixed his clothes.

“Because this particular activity was one I should have anticipated before the night started.”

House slid over Wilson’s leg to settle next to him on the couch. “You’re the one who was the Eagle Scout. Isn’t the motto ‘be prepared’?”

“Boy Scouts explicitly do not want you to prepare for this kind of activity. They rather frown on it.” Wilson glanced over at House; he had a look on his face that could only be described as satiated.

Reflecting back, a thought occurred to Wilson. “You drugged me, didn’t you?”

“A little bit.”

“Great. You slipped me a Roofie.”

“Do you feel blacked out? No, it was just a little something to relax you and loosen your inhibitions. You hold yourself pretty tight sometimes, and don’t do what you really want to do.”

“Let’s not talk about this. I don’t even think I want to know.”

They sat in silence for a moment. It started awkward but morphed into something companionable. Odd. With people other than House, it only happened the other way around.

Wilson broke the silence with a question that had been nagging at the back of his brain. “Did you really watch a movie called _Crocodile Dun-Deep_?”

“With my shrimp on the barbie.”

“It doesn’t seem particularly shrimpy to me,” Wilson murmured softly.

House of course caught it, and his lips curled in smug satisfaction. “Why, thank you.”

“And _Lesbian Licks 7_?”

“I was kidding about that. Volume 7 doesn’t come out for another month.”

“You are insane.”

“And you are insanely hot.” House pressed Wilson down onto his back and kissed him fiercely. Wilson was breathing heavily again by the time they pulled apart.

“You know,” Wilson said, pressing light kisses to House’s neck and Adam’s apple, “I always thought you were straight.”

House’s eyes were closed and he was humming softly, clearly enjoying the kisses. “I am.”

Wilson broke off, pushed back against the couch to get some distance, and glared up at House in confusion. “Then what’s this?”

House opened his eyes and looked down at Wilson. “Orientation doesn’t perfectly predict behavior. Did I mention how hot you are?” He pushed his hips into Wilson’s just once, then rolled to his left side, wedging his hip between Wilson’s right side and the sofa cushions. Wilson took the hint and shifted over to give House room.

“Are you going to ask about my orientation?”

“As long as you put out for me, what do I care?” House was tracing intricate patterns on Wilson’s chest.

“You’re quite the romantic.”

“I am known for my sensitive pitching of woo.”

They both tried to keep straight faces for a moment, but burst into laughter at the same time.

When the laugh attack was over, Wilson sat up and started looking for his shoes.

“You know that this is totally screwed up.”

“We’ve always been screwed up. Now we just have another pastime to enjoy together.”

Wilson had been feeling completely surreal, but then the world slid back into place. This shouldn’t have seemed right, but it did. He was going to like the new normality.

He found his shoes and put them on. House already had his on and was stretching and flexing his lower legs idly.

“I need a shower,” Wilson declared. “Let’s go back to your place.”

House grabbed his cane, pushed off the sofa, and headed for the door. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The hall was empty as they left the “theater” but Armand almost immediately joined them.

“Gentlemen, you enjoyed the entertainment, I trust? I do hope we will see you again soon.”

House leaned more heavily into his cane. “You know I’m game, Armand. We’ll have to see what Dr. Chase here has to say about it.”

Wilson quickly looked at House. So that was his alias, was it? “It really depends on Dr. Chase’s boss, Dr. House. He’s a real hard-ass. Didn’t want to let me off tonight.”

“Oh, yes, Dr. House, a favorite of mine.” House leaned slightly toward Armand, confiding, “He’s a genius, of course, but can be rather demanding,”

House straightened up, patted Wilson’s shoulder and continued, “I’m sure if you apply yourself, though, and put in a lot of hard effort, you can convince him to be magnanimous and let you off more often.”

Armand’s face was the model of discretion, but Wilson could sense the mental eye roll.

“We do need to clear the hallway before the next showing, gentlemen. I’ll bid you good night.” He opened the door and very discreetly forced them out.

House juggled the car keys for a moment before stepping off the sidewalk. “C’mon, let’s go. You hungry? I just remembered I know this great diner near here.”

“No, thanks. Just back to your place. I’ve had enough new experiences for one night.”

“Next time, then.” Wilson found House’s assumption of a next time presumptuous, but at the same time entirely accurate.


End file.
